


Space and Stars (And Who We Are)

by The_Secret_Life_Of_Tea



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe, Angst, Autistic Bruce Banner, Autistic Thor Odinson, Endgame AU, Infinity War spoilers, Introspection, M/M, Putting those last two just to be safe, Stimming, endgame spoilers, self-injurious behavior
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-07
Updated: 2019-05-07
Packaged: 2020-02-27 20:18:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18746374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Secret_Life_Of_Tea/pseuds/The_Secret_Life_Of_Tea
Summary: Thor is broken. Bruce wants to fix him.





	Space and Stars (And Who We Are)

**Author's Note:**

> This might be part of a larger work; I’ll let you all know!

Bruce looks at the back of Thor’s head and wonders. 

He wonders when the tenseness of his neck began to worm its way into his shoulders. He wonders if Thor notices when his own mouth twists into a wincing frown as he rubs at his neck, fingers exploring to try to find the origin of pain and press down.

It doesn’t seem to help, Bruce thinks.

He wonders a lot of other things at night, curled onto his side, in his newly-empty bed. The sheets are cold against his fingertips. 

Thor always leaves before morning. He never did before.

He’ll mumble an excuse about needing to do one thing or the other, but later Bruce will find him with his fingers wrapped around the neck of a bottle (sort of like how Thor described Loki’s death one desperate night, Thanos’ fat fingers squeezing and squeezing the life from his brother.)

(Thor was drunk, that night. He’s never honest anymore when he’s not.)

Bruce thinks and ponders and worries like a dog with a rawhide bone, certain that if he could just get his teeth under the issue and pull then he’d be able to skin it, reveal the white truth of it.

He’s still working on it one night when Thor comes in, knocking tentatively at the doorframe. Bruce startles a bit then smiles sheepishly. 

They’re re-learning each other’s quirks and tics—Thor has long forgotten that sudden noises are sensory hell to Bruce, especially when he’s working something over in his mind. He used to walk softly and quietly, then force his footfalls heavier so Bruce would take notice gradually. He does not do so anymore.

It doesn’t matter.

(It does.)

“Bruce,” Thor calls, snapping Bruce out of yet another reverie. “May I enter?” He’s sober for once, so Bruce nods to allow him access.

“I have been thinking,’ he begins as Bruce mumbles, “I wanted to talk to you.’ 

The awkward pause would almost be funny if it weren’t for the worried expression on Thor’s face.

“What is it?” Thor asked, and Bruce starts to wring his hands. They’re red raw already but it’s a comfort, knowing that, if anything, he’ll have a mark to denote this event. So much does not seem real or normal, but this is his one constant.

“You have to let me fix you,” he says simply, watching the way Thor’s face collapses in on itself. He braces for the supernova, but none is forthcoming. Instead, Thor sits himself heavily on Bruce’s bed.

“He’s back,” he blurts out. “He was in my dreams and he told me he is coming.”

Bruce looked at Thor searchingly, trying to find any sign of instability. Yes, there is some, but no delusion—in fact, there is a fierce clarity in Thor’s gaze that Bruce has not seen in a long time.

“We’ll find him,” Bruce says. Thor nods, and, finally, finally, leans his head into Bruce’s chest and weeps.


End file.
